New Routine
by flashwitch
Summary: More in my OCD verse. Clint goes to his happy place (the vents) and tries to figure out what he's supposed to do. How he's supposed to handle knowing that his partner has kept something hidden from him for years. It's a matter of trust.
1. Chapter 1

**Follows on from Magical thinking. Clint POV this time, and I think I like this one better. Same trigger warnings. **

* * *

Clint crouched in the vents breathing slowly and steadily. Sniper breathing. He felt like the rug had been pulled out from under his feet. Coulson is his handler, his lover, his life. And he knows nothing about the man.

How had Phil kept something this big hidden from him? Because that's the issue. He doesn't care that Coulson needs routines, that he's having trouble coping. God knows Phil's helped him through some rough patches in the past. He does care that Phil hadn't told him. That he'd hidden it until it had scratched out through his skin and he was forced to acknowledge it.

Clint could have... he could have helped. Done something. He tried, when he realised that certain things were important to Phil. He stopped getting take out, and started cooking more (he thought it was a health thing); he didn't object to the early morning alarms (even on weekends); he didn't pressure Phil into doing anything he didn't want to (he was shocked and thrilled when Phil went down on their anniversary).

Did Phil trust him at all? Because that's what this was about. Trust. Clint had never been able to trust easily, but once you were in, you were all the way in. He would literally trust Phil to hold his beating heart in his hands.

Clint tipped his head back, making the ducts ring. What was he going to do? Phil didn't trust him. He's never shown his vulnerability to Clint, the way Clint showed his to Phil. Phil's seen him screaming through flashbacks. He's seen him crying over his past. He's even seen him curled up in the ducts, hiding after a bad mission. Coulson, and maybe Nat, are the only people he lets see him like that. He's never seen Coulson like that. Never.

He just figured that Coulson never broke. That he was always completely and entirely together. Sure, he'd noticed some odd habits since Phil had come back from the dead, but the man had come back from the dead. He was too happy to really worry about those things.

And now it had all come crumbling down.

He was afraid, he realised with a start. He was scared. Not just about what might happen to Phil. What this... this _thing_ might do to him, but he was scared that he'd never known the man at all. The voice in his head (that sounded a lot like Natasha) told him he was being ridiculous. But he couldn't shake the feeling that this proved Phil didn't trust him.

Which probably said more about his issues than Phil's.

* * *

He made his way through the vent system until he was above their guest room. He peered through the grating, and Phil wasn't there. He wasn't in the room. Clint could see evidence of him. Belongings moved from their bedroom. Huh, Phil had been serious about sleeping in there then. Clint hadn't been sure. But then, where was he?

"JARVIS?"

"Yes, Mr Barton?"

"Is Phil... where is he?"

"I believe he is in the bathroom to the guest room of your floor."

"Is he alright?"

"I do not have cameras on the private floors, sir. Only heat and motion sensors, as well as my standard audio pick up. But..." JARVIS paused, and Clint's head came up. JARVIS only hesitated when he meant it. "He has been in the bathroom an awfully long time."

"Right. Okay."

"Do you have reason to believe he is not okay? I can override the lock if that is the case."

"I... I don't know. He might be fine. He's probably fine, right?"

"I'm sure, sir."

"Just... let him be. But make sure he comes out for dinner? Remind him."

"Of course."

"Thanks."

Clint ran a trembling hand through his hair. He'd fucked this up. He'd fucked this up so bad. Half of him wanted to go and see if Phil was alright. The rest of him was worried that if he tried talking to Phil right now, then he'd screw it up even more. He was too raw. Too on edge. He needed to think. To have some distance so he could assimilate this new information. He wasn't good with change.

Phil knew that. Phil had to know that.

Clint decided he needed more help to get his head round this. He didn't want to actually tell anyone what Phil had told him; that would be breaking his confidence. He wouldn't do that. But he needed to talk this through with someone. It was how he understood things.

So, he did what he always did when something bothered him. He went to Natasha.


	2. Chapter 2

He used the vents to get down to Natasha's level. He knew that at this time of day, on a day off, he had a good chance of finding her in her living room, reading.

And reading she was, but she wasn't alone. Bruce was sitting next to her, one arm around her shoulders. He froze.

How had he missed this?

What else had been going on that he was unaware of?

He watched them. She was almost completely relaxed in his presence. When had that happened? Natasha never relaxed. Not unless she knew she had Phil and Clint watching her back. They looked _right_ together. Seriously, how had he not seen this? Had he been so wrapped up in his own guilt that he'd been ignoring his best friend? Great, more guilt.

* * *

After a while, Clint wasn't sure how long, Bruce sat up and stretched.

"I'd better head up to the communal floor. It's my turn to cook."

"Of course." She leaned up and pressed a kiss to his mouth, surprisingly chaste, and he stroked his fingers through her hair.

"I'll see you later."

As soon as he walked out the door, Natasha turned and stared at the grate Clint was behind. He would have been shocked, but she'd always known when he was near. He pushed the grate out and climbed down.

"What's wrong?" she asked as he walked over to her.

"Who says something's wrong?"

"Your face."

"Okay, fine." He wrapped his arms around his torso and looked away, knowing his posture was defensive, but he didn't care.

She grabbed his wrist and dragged him over to the sofa, pushing him down and arranging them so that she was sitting with his head in her lap. He closed his eyes and let her fingers in his hair soothe him.

"Explain," she said.

"I can't. Not all of it."

"Say what you can."

"Phil told me something. Something that he's been dealing with since long before we met him. And he never told me. It's like... do I even know him?"

"I take it you're not going to tell me what he said."

"I can't, Tash. I can't. It's his to tell."

"Alright. But it's something that affects the way you see him."

"Yeah."

"He's still Coulson though."

"Yeah." Clint sighed. "I screwed up, Nat."

"How?"

"I left him. He told me something that was worrying him. Something that he's kept to himself for years. And I freaked out and ran away." He gave a humourless little laugh. "But that's what I'm good at, after all."

"Hey!" She tightened her fingers and tugged at his hair.

"Ow."

"Go to him. Apologize. Tell him you're an idiot," she said. "And then tell him you love him. And that whatever he told you doesn't change anything." She gentled her fingers again, stroking softly. "Unless you want to leave him?"

"No! God, no. I need him, Tash."

"I know that, idiot. Tell him."

"I will." He sat up, her hand slipping slowly from his hair. "Now, you and Bruce?" He raised an eyebrow at her.

"You didn't know?"

"I've been distracted lately."

"We've been seeing each other for a few weeks."

"I thought love was for children."

"It is." She sighed and leaned into Clint's side. "He loves Betty. I want sex, companionship. So does he. We're just using each other."

"Does he know that?" She didn't answer. "Nat, does he know that?"

"I don't know."

"Talk to him."

"You first."

They sat there, in each other's arms, for what seemed like a long time.

"Mr Barton, Miss Romanov, Dr Banner requests your presence for dinner."

Long enough for Bruce to cook dinner at any rate.

* * *

Phil came to dinner. Clint was ridiculously reassured by that. On the other hand, Phil looked terrible. He was pale and his lips been well chewed on. He wouldn't even look at Clint. The others noticed. _Tony_ even noticed. But after Phil avoided their questions, they all started chatting and eating the curry. Bruce was a ridiculously good cook. Clint ate a few mouthfuls, and then just pushed his food around his plate. He felt bad enough that eating just didn't appeal. He kept sneaking covert glances at Phil. Coulson wasn't eating. At all. He got the food near his mouth, and then flinched and let his fork fall back to the plate. That was...weird. Phil like curry. Clint remembered many great nights in together making their own from scratch. Always from scratch.

Then Phil stood up.

"If you'll excuse me."

"You didn't eat anything." Steve's voice was worried, and usually worry about him from Captain America cheers Phil right up. Not this time.

"I'm not hungry. Thank you for the thought though. It smells delicious." Because Phil always has to be so fucking polite. And Clint's pretty sure the others can see that he's lying.

"Are you alright? You're not getting sick, are you? You can't get sick, you've only just gotten better." Stark almost looked panicked.

"I'm fine," Phil lied, and he didn't look at Clint as he left.

* * *

Barton pushed his plate away and dropped his head to the table.

"What did you do?" Steve asked, and wow, it was really uncomfortable having a national icon pissed at you.

"I screwed up."

"Then go fix it," Tony said. "We just got him back. Apologize for whatever you did, and blow his mind with awesome sex."

"It's not that simple." Clint sat up and looked around at them. "I love him, you know? But this is something big. And I screwed up. If he trusted me before, he won't after this."

"The longer you leave it, the worse it will become," Bruce said, his voice quiet and non-judgemental. Clint frowned at him. He'd always gotten on well with Banner, but it was different now he knew Bruce was sexing up his best friend.

"Love is not easy," Thor said, his gaze distant. He was probably thinking of his 'lovely Jane'. "But it is worth fighting for."

"I'll talk to him. I will. I just. I need to figure out what to say. And how I feel about what... about what happened."

"What did happen?" Tony asked.

"It's not mine to tell."

"Fine, be like that." Tony tried to pout, but Clint knew he was just messing around to cover up his worry.

"I'd tell you if I thought it wouldn't hurt him. He wouldn't want everyone to know. If it were up to me, I'd be telling you right now, because I could actually really use someone to talk to about all this." He rubbed his palm across his forehead.

"It's that bad?" Steve asked.

"No. Yes. That's the problem. I don't know. Probably not. I just need to talk it out with him. We'll be fine."

"We are here, if you have need of an ear," Thor told him seriously.

"Thanks. And for Phil too? He might need to talk."

"Of course," Steve replied.

"Okay. Good." Clint looked at his plate, and he shook his head. "Sorry, Bruce. I just don't have much of an appetite."

"It's fine. Go. See to Coulson."

And it's as if that's what Clint's been waiting for. He felt free to actual go to Phil. Maybe he'd actually know what to say when he got to their floor. He pushed his chair back from the table and stood, heading straight to the elevator.

Phil needed him.


	3. Chapter 3

Clint stood outside the door for what felt like about half an hour, trying to figure out what to say, before he actually opened the door and went was...

He was...

He was gone, lost, out of control. Pacing back and forth, muttering under his breath. He looked completely overwhelmed and that was so wrong. Phil should never look like that.

"Are you alright?" Clint wanted to hit himself as soon as he said it. Stupid. 'Are you alright?' should go on a list somewhere of the worst questions to ask in a crisis.

"No. I can honestly say that alright is not what I am right now. Alright is not even close. I can- I was better, before. I can get better again. I can."

"Hey, easy." Clint put up his hands like he was trying to calm a wild animal. He remembers Coulson using that soft tone on him, more than once, but this is the first time Clint had ever had to use that voice on Coulson.

"Don't touch me."

"I don't know what to do here, sir. I'm flying blind." He honestly didn't know what to do. He'd never seen Coulson so out of control.

"I... I just need to- give me a minute?"

"Of course." Clint went to sit on the edge of the bed, and watched as Phil pressed the heels of his hands against his eyes. Clint could practically feel the uncertainly pouring off Coulson.

"I'm sorry."

"No." Clint shook his head desperately and reached out, to touch, before he stopped himself. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have walked out on you earlier. I'm not angry. I'm not upset. I'm... confused, I guess. You always seemed so put together. This is the first time I've ever seen you afraid. It scared me."

"I'm still sorry. I should have been more open with you." Phil looked so _sad_. It broke Clint's heart.

"No, I get why you wouldn't want to talk about it. It's just..." Clint ran a frustrated hand through his hair, and sighed. "You're always so in control. I don't get it."

"I am always so in control. That's the point. I have to be so in control, or I stop eating and end up just sitting in my room counting things. I'll get it back under control. I have to. I just wanted you to understand that I hadn't just suddenly lost my mind."

This time when Clint reached for Phil, Phil let himself be pulled down to the bed. Clint closed his eyes and thanked the Lord (not that he's religious) as he wrapped his arms around Phil, and rested his head on Phil's shoulder.

"Whatever you need. I'm here." And apparently, that's exactly what Phil needed to hear. The tension just drained out of him, leaving him completely relaxed in Clint's arms.

"Sleep. I need sleep."

"Okay." Clint untied Phil's tie and put it on the bed beside him. Then he began unbuttoning Phil's shirt.

"Fold them," Phil murmured, the stress of the day getting to him, making him drowsy. Clint barked out a harsh laugh.

"Of course," he smiled. He finished stripping Phil (who lay like a doll and let him, eyes closed), and then moved onto his own clothes. He folded them all neatly and put them on the armchair by the bed. Then he pulled back the sheets and adjusted Phil so he was lying on his back on the left side of the bed, the way he preferred, and then climbed in beside him. He lay down on his side, facing Phil, and his hand came to rest on the scar from Loki's staff.

"I love you, you know?"

"'m sleeping, Barton."

"Sure. I'll tell you again in the morning."


	4. Chapter 4

Clint woke up slowly, to the sensation of being watched. He opened his eyes and found Phil lying on his side looking at him.

"Hey."

"Hey." Clint smiled slowly. "Love you."

"Love you too. Are you all right? I know I dumped a lot on you yesterday."

"I'm... confused, more than anything. I love you, and I'm sorry, I'm so sorry. I shouldn't have left yesterday. I screwed up."

"It was a lot to take in."

"Can you maybe explain it a bit more? I mean, thinking about it, I have noticed stuff over the years. But I just saw them as quirks. As part of you. I want to know more about what this is and how it affects you."

"OCD. Obsessive Compulsive Disorder." Coulson paused and thought for a moment. "For me, it means I need a steady routine. When I have a spike, I have to see my food being prepared and it has to be prepared in a certain way. Even that isn't enough sometimes. I get these... flashes. Of mould. Of maggots. Of blood. And I just can't eat. I also have to engage in repetitive behaviours and tics. For me that's usually repeating of words, pacing, and chewing my lower lip. I can replace the lip chewing with gum though." Clint watched as Coulson's tongue goes out to lick at the bite marks he'd left on his own lips. "I also have to count things when I'm upset. If it doesn't come out to a multiple of five, I have to count it again. And again, and again, even though I know it's not going to change. Since I came back from the dead, I've developed a new tic. Tapping out Morse Code words. Usually for something I want to happen, or just of random words." He looked away, and Clint resisted the urge to reach up and cup his cheek, not sure how welcome his touch would be. "But most of the time, I have it under control. I can eat most things. I stick to a routine, but that's more practical than anything, and it doesn't hurt me if I need to break that routine for a mission. Or because my boyfriend decided to surprise me." Clint was glad to see a smile. "Most of the time I'm fine."

"But not right now?"

"No. Not right now."

And then Clint couldn't hold back any longer. He reached out and pulled Phil down into a tight hug, one hand cradling Phil's skull, the other pressed to his back.

"What do you need?" The tension flowed out of Phil, and he hugged Clint back.

"I need routine. To wake up at the same time every morning and do the same things every day. I'm seeing a psychiatrist."

"Does that help? The shrink?"

"It has before." Phil paused. "Although, this one... she's competent, I'm sure, but..."

"You don't like her."

"No."

"Then we'll find someone you do like. What else?"

"I need to see my food being prepared. And to serve it up onto my plate myself."

"Okay. We have a cooking rota, but everyone is so pleased you're back. I'm sure no one would mind if we were to hang out in the kitchen while dinner's being cooked."

"I know I'm a mess. You don't have to do this."

"Hey!" Clint was actually offended that Phil was still trying to give him an out. "Did you leave me after I got captured by those assholes in Burma? Or after I was shot in Guam?"

"No."

"Why?"

"Because I love you, idiot."

"Exactly. So what makes you think I'd leave you now? You're going through a rough patch. We'll deal."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

* * *

So they deal. Nothing changes overnight. Phil finds himself overcome sometimes. He paces. He taps. He chews. But Clint is there, solid, reliable. They find a psychiatrist, an older lady named Kate. She was good, and Phil liked her. So did Clint. No one objected when Phil gravitated to the kitchen in the hour or so before dinner. In fact, they were all happy to have him. They'd all missed him.

And slowly, steadily, Phil's keel evens out. He doesn't need to go back on medication. He just has to relearn how to cope. It's the same as his physiotherapy, a steady build up of thoughts instead of muscles.

And when something does go wrong, when something does trigger him and he has to stop and count, lower lip between his teeth, Clint is right there.

They have a new routine, and it works.

Of course, roughly a month into their new routine, it all goes to hell. But that's another story.

* * *

**Okay guys, I know it's short and covers a lot of the stuff covered in Magical Thinking, but do not despair! There shall be more! Hence the evil Cliffie. I'm writing the next one already, and it should be up in a couple of days. Although I'm thinking it might be a lot longer fic, which I would post as a WIP. Either way, definitely an update in the next day or two.**


End file.
